


Don't Feed the Archer

by EllyAvon



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Caffeine, Ceiling Vent Clint Barton, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Every Trope You Love, F/M, Feels, Feelstide 2015, Found Family, Gen, Language!, M/M, Nudity, Swearing, Taste the Rainbow, Tony Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-03 20:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5306453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllyAvon/pseuds/EllyAvon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Feelstide 2015 for the prompt  "Clint has a sugar/caffeine high because of all the holiday goodies, and Phil helps calm him down before he goes streaking and jumping across the tower"</p><p>I went in a slightly different direction with it, but hey. :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Feed the Archer

“What _the fuck_ did you do?” A cold voice demands from the door of Tony’s suite. Tony attempts to look without removing his mouth from Steve’s, but that’s impossible. He catches sight of something blondish and purplish and Bartonish sprinting around the hallway, and someone tall darkening the door-- the door that he was pretty sure had been locked.

Tony doesn’t even consider disentangling himself from where he’s straddling Steve’s gorgeous lap on their ridiculously plush couch, and decides on an eyebrow raise. He’s seen Natasha use this move on Coulson, and he’s about 94.87% sure the man in the doorway is, in fact, Coulson. Based on the aforementioned Bartonish blur, the height, and the chill in the words. If Natasha can do it, he can do it.

Worth a try, right?

Coulson, and it is Coulson, steps into the room and only glares. It’s just a little bit terrifying. That, and Tony realizes he’s actually never heard him swear before. And he’s wearing a sweater. A sweater.

“Sorry, Phil, what?” Steve asks. Tony watches mournfully as Steve’s ridiculous azure eyes snap back into focus. Damn, now he’s going to be all Captain Responsiblepants and they’ll probably have to wrangle some kind of mutated Christmas Octopus instead of getting Christmas nookie, which is terrible.

“I don’t believe that I stuttered, but I will say it again,” Coulson says through gritted teeth.

“I am awesome, wooooo!” Barton’s voice says from... somewhere. That’s disconcerting.

“What _the fuck_ did you do to Clint?”

Tony frowned and scrunched up his nose. He had done many things to Clint. He’d dyed his hair purple (which he’d actually loved), he’d had JARVIS only speak to him in Japanese (that was pretty fun, until Barton revealed, weeks later, that he’s pretty much fluent in Japanese due to having been stationed in Osaka for almost a year and having a lifelong obsession with Sailor Moon), he’d built him a bunch of arrows designed to pull juuuust slightly to the left (Clint saw the problem with the fletching before firing a single one).

Clint Barton was a difficult guy to prank, to be honest. So, Tony hadn’t done anything to him in quite some time.

“Nothing,” he says in a voice he hopes conveys his confusion and innocence, (two things he is not used to conveying), “I haven’t even seen him since we did gifts this morning,” he gives Steve his best _help me out_ look. Steve, in return, analyzes his face with deep concentration. Okay, so it’s not _really_ above Tony to lie about a prank, but not on Christmas, seriously.

Steve appears to sense his lack of culpability and turns back to Coulson, “We haven’t left quarters since lunch.”

But Coulson has his face in his hands, and he’s laughing now, sounding just a little hysterical “you didn’t do it on purpose, did you? You don’t even know what you did.”

“What’s wrong with Clint? Does he need medical attention?” Steve rises gracefully from the couch, lifting and placing Tony on the floor next to him as easily as if he were a toddler. Tony’s torn between being turned on by the display of strength and upset about the loss of contact. He decides on plastering himself to Steve’s back. Coulson looks pretty mad and probably won’t punch Steve. Probably.

“Did you know,” he says, “that Clint avoids caffeine as a rule, so that his hands stay steady?”

Tony feels his stomach clench up. Okay, so this might actually be partially his fault.

"He drinks coffee every morning," Steve says, rather dubiously. Tony can almost hear the eyebrow raise, "I've see him drink it directly from the pot."

"Yes," Coulson agrees wearily, "one cup, right away in the morning and never more than that."

There’s another flash of purple and blond, as Barton cartwheels down the hall. "Wheeeee!!!"

Coulson looks pained, as he continues, "And he rarely, if ever, eats anything with refined sugar?"

"But he loves skittles! It takes him a week to finish a--" Tony trails off, realizing the fact that it takes Clint a week to eat a single bag of skittles-- a bag that he rations out and counts and sorts like he really is tasting the rainbow or some shit and if he doesn’t do it right they’ll get hit by some sort of evil rainbow magic. On second thought, it seems like _exactly_ the kind of nonsense that happens to them.

"And, you do realize, shooting the way that he does requires an unusual level of sensitivity? The fact that he can feel a change in wind speed and atmospheric pressure and see the smallest targets is not a superpower, it’s a rare personality trait. However, this also means that he’s particularly susceptible to drugs of all kinds-- including caffeine and sugar.”

Yep, definitely Tony’s fault, “So, the Call of Duty Marathon Survival Kit I put together for him...?”

“Was full of energy drinks and candy and there were _pixie sticks,_ Stark. You gave my hypersensitive husband _Red Bull_ and _pixie sticks_.”

“And now he’s...?” Steve raised an eyebrow articulately. Getting a lot of mileage out of the eyebrow raise today.

“Now he’s experiencing a potentially dangerous sugar and caffeine high. JARVIS?”

“Agent Barton’s heart rate and temperature are elevated. Though he reports a severe headache, thirst, dizziness, and nausea, he has executed 27 cartwheels and--”

JARVIS is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of puking.

“has now vomited into your _peperomia obtusifolia_ plant, sir.”

Tony has puked in way fancier plants, he thinks smugly.

“Phil?” Clint’s voice says weakly, and Coulson is gone in a flash.

Steve (again) raises an eyebrow at Tony, who, again, attempts to look innocent.

“How was I supposed to know Barton is hypersensitive or whatever? He wasn’t supposed to eat the whole basket at the same time! He was supposed to share the thing over the course of an all-night shoot-em-up marathon! I _labeled_ the basket, Steve!”

Perhaps because it is Christmas, Steve takes him at his word, and simply goes out to see if he can be helpful to Clint and Phil, Tony hot on his heels.

Agent Phil Coulson, who has probably seen shit Tony’s significant brain cannot comprehend, is kneeling in a Christmas sweater next to a vomit-covered plant looking positively gobsmacked and terrified.

They all watch Clint _vibrate_ as he shucks his jeans and purple tee (no underwear, classy, Barton), then take off running again with the wicker basket of snacks tucked under his arm.

“You can’t catch me!” is all they hear before Clint effortlessly pops a vent and disappears into the bowels of Avengers Tower. The unmistakeable sound of a can opening echoes above their heads.

Phil makes a pained face.

 

* * *

 

“So, let me get this straight,” Natasha says dryly. It’s taken Tony awhile to get used to seeing Natasha like this-- her curls sleep-mused and in flannel pants and an old T-shirt. She looks normal and not at all deadly and he kind of wants to give her a hug. Weird. “Stark accidentally drugged Barton with everyday snacks and now he’s naked somewhere in the tower?”

“Naked and in medical distress, yes.”

“And you want me to go find him.”

“That would be appreciated, yes.”

Natasha has never looked more like Barton’s exasperated older sister, “what makes you think I can find him?”

Steve puts the eyebrow to good use again.

Natasha gives him an eyebrow back.

Steve makes wide, imploring eyes at her.

Natasha puts her hands on her hips and raises both of her eyebrows.

Steve gives her a disapproving head tilt.

Natasha twists her perfect cupid’s bow lips into a childish pout, “fine,” she says, “let me change,” and closes the door in their faces.

“Sirs?” JARVIS says, “Agent Barton has accessed Dr. Banner’s lab.”

“Well, shit, is Bruce in there?”

There’s a loud roar and a concerning shake, “No,” JARVIS admits, “I believe Agent Barton is now accompanied by The Incredible Hulk.”

 

* * *

 

Natasha has joined their brigade in her catsuit, has her hair tied up in a fluffy ponytail. That wouldn’t be so weird, except that she also has a hand on Coulson’s back. Apparently watching his husband go toe-to-toe with terrorists and aliens is boring, but losing him on a sugar high in their own home is terrifying.

Tony is prepared for all kinds of scenes when they arrive at Bruce’s lab. Mostly he’s ready to see Clint bashed into naked little archer pieces, and he’s slightly surprised by how upset that makes him feel.

This is the weirdest Goddamn Christmas ever.

What they find instead of Hawkeye-bits is Hulk sitting in an open corner of the lab, sorting skittles into little piles with one enormous finger. There’s a small tower of unopened bags off to his left.

“Hey big guy,” Tony tries, but Hulk only growls and keeps sorting the candies.

“HULK IS TASTING THE RAINBOW!”

“There,” Natasha says, and indicates a ceiling vent that’s been removed on the other side of the lab. She darts across the room and breaches the vent in an easy-looking 10-foot vertical jump. Every time Tony thinks he’s used to her particular brand of frightening competence, she does shit like this.

Coulson makes a distressed noise and looks strangely close to tears.

Tony will do anything to prevent that shit from happening, a crying Coulson does not a merry Christmas make. Tony’s actual plan for the evening (which was variations on Nudity With Steve) has already been foiled, as the only people currently naked are Hulk and Barton, which is just... seriously, this is not how Tony wanted this night to go and Coulson crying is about the only thing that has the potential to make it worse.

So Tony goes for distraction, “We should warn Thor and Jane.”

Steve turns on him looking perplexed, “Warn them?”

“Well, darling, you and I were still clothed when we were interrupted by the ongoing SpyHusbands disaster-- I don’t know that our resident demigod/astrophysicist combo want to be naked when naked Barton shows up to shower them with pixie stick dust or whatever the fuck he’s doing.”

Coulson stares at the open vent like he hopes Clint will just pop out of it and follow him back to their quarters like an obedient little duckling.

“Natasha’s got him,” Steve says comfortingly, “Tony’s right, we'll go talk to them so Thor and Jane can be on the lookout too.”

Hulk lets out a low growl and motions protectively at his skittles.

Steve propels them out of the lab. They all know better than to piss off Hulk when he’s got sugar.

 

* * *

 

Thor is, in fact, completely nude when they reach his quarters.

Nude and exuberant. Tony’s life has always been a little weird, but Elated Naked Christmas Demigod is a whole other level.

“SALUTATIONS, BROTHERS! It is wonderful to see you again this Yuletide!” he booms. But pretty much everything Thor says is boomed.

“Indoor voices, honey,” Jane says. She is wrapped up in a bedsheet, at least.

“Son of Coul, you appear ill, what has caused your grave countenance?”

“Clint’s missing,” Tony says before anyone can blame him for the whole situation, “and he’s kind of--”

“High,” Coulson supplies, sounding exhausted.

Jane looks to Tony, because scientists stick together. Tony appreciates that, “Apparently, Barton’s got a Hypersensitive Personality,”

“That’s psuedoscience,” Jane says immediately, “It’s not in the DSM V.”

“I know,” Tony agrees, because, hello, like Tony hasn’t googled Bipolar I to make sure he doesn’t have it at least 34 times, and then just decided to read the whole book. “But Agent says he can’t hold his red bull, now he’s naked in the vents and he’s acting erratically exhibiting caffeine overdose symptoms.”

“Shit!” Jane says, “Did you scan for him? Can JARVIS do that?”

“I cannot, Dr. Foster, However, Agent Romanoff is tracking Agent Barton in the ventilation system.”

Jane and Thor nod in disconcerting unison, like ah, good, we’ll all be okay. But then Thor screws up his face.

“Will Clinton require medical attention? Is he not himself?”

Coulson seems to pull himself together for a moment. He’s assigned himself as Steve and Thor’s personal Cultural Acclimation Coach, probably because he doesn’t trust any of the rest of them to do it.

“Clint drank a lot of caffeine, which is a commonly used stimulant-- most often consumed in carbonated drinks, tea, and coffee. However, Clint isn’t accustomed to this amount of the drug-- and even if he had been, he’s had too much.”

“Ah!” Thor says, seeming pleased, “An Overdose! Such as with the iced cream! Is that correct, Dearest Jane?”

Jane looks decidedly embarrassed, “Yes, honey. Like the time with the ice cream. Except that was just my stomach, a caffeine overdose has potential to be very dangerous.”

“Then we must find him! The Lady Natasha is already within the ceiling looking for him?”

“Yeah, she’s following a trail that started in Bruce’s lab,” Steve explains.

“Ah, then we must search his common haunts. Have you checked the archer’s nest?”

There’s a moment where everyone stares at Thor.

Jane speaks after a long silence, “You know that ‘Hawkeye’ is just a nickname, right?”

“To be certain! But it does not mean Clinton has not created a nest for himself. Did you not know?”

Of fucking course Barton built a nest somewhere.

“Where is this nest?” Coulson asks suspiciously. Tony doesn’t blame him. Coulson makes a point of knowing everything about everyone and not knowing that his husband has a secret hideout is a little off. But then again, for all that Tony is pretty sure Thor is half god half golden retriever puppy, he does have that _I’m several thousand years old and that means that I am wise beyond reckoning except when it comes to poptarts_ thing going for him.

“I shall lead you there!” Thor says, and Jane reaches up and catches him by one of his messy braids.

“Pants, love. We talked about this.”

“Oh! Yes, I shall clothe myself and then I shall show you to Clinton’s nest!” Seriously. Golden Retriever.

Tony buries his face in Steve’s chest, because, what seriously is his life?

 

* * *

 

When Tony reaches the top of the ladder that leads to the space where the projector and stage lights are suspended from the ceiling in the home theater, Tony has to admit-- Thor was not making shit up. Clint has literally made a nest on the little platform. It’s a pile of warm blankets and clothing and stuffed animals and battered paperback books.

In the center is Clint himself, nude, weeping into Natasha’s leather-clad lap and curled into a sad little ball. Natasha is sitting on Tony’s favorite MIT sweatpants that have been missing for several months. Tony’s not sure whether he should be touched or pissed off. She’s petting Clint’s ridiculous blond head with one hand and monitoring his pulse with the other, speaking to him quietly in Russian. He’s a little thrown, seeing the two of them snuggled up like this; Clint so clearly vulnerable and Natasha whispering to him so kindly, petting his head like he’s a beloved child. Tony’s Russian is pretty bad, but even he can parse out some of what she’s saying,

“You’ll be fine, _something,_ a mistake, _something something,_ take care of you, _words words words,_ Christmas, little brother, _something,_ safe.”

Tony is used to tightness in his chest-- he’s got an enormous battery installed there, seriously-- but this is something different. It’s sweet. It’s love. It’s not sex-love or because-we’re-dying-love, this is just care. Tony doesn’t have any siblings, so Clint and Natasha’s dynamic has always sort of eluded Tony’s understanding. But right now, he realizes maybe Thor’s right to call them all brothers. He’s genuinely happy to see Clint okay, trusts Natasha to make sure he’ll be safe. And he  _loves_ these crazy people. Holy hell.

He tosses a fleece blanket covered in little yellow ducks over Clint (he wasn’t going to leave him bareassed up there, seriously) and slides back down the ladder so fast his hands burn a little. He shakes his head to clear it.

“Agent, you’re up. Widow’s got your trainwreck of husband in a pile of your old sweatshirts.”

Phil takes a very brief moment to glare at him, then ascends the ladder.

Tony is warmed by Steve’s marvelous arms wrapping around his waist. For just a moment, he fights some tears because it’s _so nice_ and he has a family and it’s ridiculous and a pain in the ass but it’s just, it’s so good to have these weirdos here on Christmas.

After a moment, Natasha shimmies easily down the ladder.

“How fares our Hawk?” Thor says in what passes for a Thor-Whisper.

“His pulse is dropping, his stomach hurts, he’s vomited twice, and he’ll be shaking for awhile, but he’s lived through worse. I’m going to get him some bottled water.”

Clint’s noisy laugh echoes from the platform, Phil’s low, calm, voice can be heard, with just a touch of humor in it as well.

“Is there anything we can do?” Steve asks, because he is the most responsible man alive.

Natasha seems to think about this for a moment, “Maybe you could turn on a movie? Something Clint likes? He’s going to be in pain for awhile.”

So Tony goes to make popcorn, Natasha brings Bruce back, and everyone cozies up on the recliners and loveseats. Tony turns on Finding Nemo, because that seems apropos.

Thor and Clint yell out the lines, Natasha tells them about the fish species, Steve asks a million questions, and Jane and Tony throw popcorn at everyone to get them to shut up.

It’s a weird Christmas, it’s not what Tony was planning, but it’s kind of wonderful.

He does make a note for next year, though:  _Don't Feed the Archer._

**Author's Note:**

> I experienced a caffeine overdose several years ago when I went to a movie theater and mindlessly drank the entirety of one of those ridiculous movie theater diet cokes. I ended up shaking for hours and eventually did vomit. Merry Christmas, hahaha!


End file.
